Invitation
by Thaumaturgy
Summary: Daniel gets an invitation. Janet gets one of her own. Preship.


**Invitation**

Summary: Daniel gets an invitation. Janet gets one of her own. Pre-ship.

Disclaimer: Still nope. Ah, well…que sera, sera.

* * *

Janet Frasier wasn't really surprised when she saw the light under the door off the hall—at least, not once she realized what room was behind it. She was irritated, of course, because it was far too late for anyone to be on base—especially when the person was first in line for the nurses' Most Time Spent In Infirmary award. They even had a plaque on order from a shop downtown, and she was seriously considering putting them all on lavatory duty—but any levity would do in a pinch, she supposed.

"Late night, Daniel?"

Her wry voice made the archaeologist snap his head up so fast his glasses slid down his nose, and he pushed them back up in the singular movement he had that was both decisive and deferent. "Hello, Janet."

They had only begun calling each other by their first names recently, after barbeques and birthdays spent in the same group had made referring to each other by 'Doctor' ridiculous—the names were awkward, as stiff and careful as formal dress, but Janet rather liked the way the man's name sounded on her tongue.

"You're here late, aren't you?" The silent remonstration in her voice made him look up again—his head had dropped to study the folded piece of paper crumpled in his hand—and he raised an eyebrow. Something needed to be done to Teal'c for teaching that to the members of SG-1—she should bring it up with her staff. "No later than you."

She acceded the point, and drew closer. "What are you reading?"

He hesitated, just barely, then moved his hand to show her a letter with official heading and neat typing. "The AIA sent me an invitation to their annual meeting."

"AIA?"

"The Archaeological Institute of America. They have a get-together, sharing theories and findings."

"It sounds fascinating," Janet said, and she meant it. She loved talking with professionals, people who were smart and had smart jobs they were passionate about. Even if she didn't really understand what they were talking about—and with Daniel, she often didn't—she appreciated the intelligence behind the words. "Are you going?"

He sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose again even though this time, they didn't really need it. "I doubt it."

"Why?" In the corner of her mind she knew that the conversation was leaving the realm of small talk and merging in the freeway of Awkward Things, but she was enjoying talking to Daniel, and if he didn't mind, she wanted to continue,

"It would be too awkward," he said with a wry smile. "They all think I'm crazy and have retired from the archaeological community either from shame or a lack of job offers—it tends to limit topics of conversation."

She had never seen this side of him that was alienated from his peers—she knew him so thoroughly as a genius that the idea of people thinking of him as anything less was incomprehensible. "I'm—" she was going to say she was sorry, uselessly, and then she had a wicked idea and smiled. "You should go anyway."

He blinked up at her like an owl or a very small boy. "Excuse me?"

"Go. Dress sharp and bring a date and dangle your classified status in their faces. It would be fun." She grinned infectiously. "If I were you I'd try it."

He started to smile too, slowly. "You think?"

"I do," she told him, and blinked when he stood up.

"Janet Frasier, you are a genius," he told her. And then, small and timid and testing the ice, "Would you come?"

She started, and he clarified. "As my date. You _did_ say I needed one…"

Janet looked at him—really looked, taking him all in. Messy blondish hair that was falling in spectacled eyes that had so much compassion it made her feel both small and immensely warmed; a tall, fit frame that was at least a head taller than her own, comfortable clothes that were wrinkled and had a spot of coffee on the shirt. He was smiling, but nervous, and he looked surprisingly fragile, like a good jab could break him apart like dry clay.

"I accept your invitation," she said, formally and suddenly, and the disappearance of the nervousness from his grin made her heart skip a shocking beat before she told it to behave itself. "Let's knock them dead."


End file.
